The One with All the Nekkidness
by joker to the thief
Summary: The screaming and cursing and miles and miles of skin and eyes going where eyes should not go is actually happening. To him.


He's being Punk'd. That's what it is. Either that, or this is some really bizarre dream he's having because he finished the whole bowl of bean dip instead of listening to Rachel.

Please let it be the bean dip. Because otherwise...

Otherwise, the screaming and cursing and miles and miles of skin and _eyes going where eyes should not go_ is actually happening. To him.

Fuck his fucking life.

Okay, let's rewind.

He's supposed to be at Mac's place with the rest of the guys from work, watching the first game of the ALCS. The Indians have been out of it since September so he's rooting for the Yankees. What? He's a New Yorker now. (...okay, maybe it's mostly because he has this really douchey coworker who happens to be Texan and a crazy Rangers fan.) Whatever. Point is, they were supposed to go there, Mac bailed on them because of his girl, and they end up buying beer and heading to his apartment instead.

After opening the door to let his buddies in, he's a little preoccupied with his keys and the mail on the little hall table they have that he doesn't notice the trash talking and laughter have stopped. Like, dead silence. When he finally looks up to see what they're gawking at...

Huh. This must be what an aneurysm feels like.

No, really, how was he supposed to know his very pregnant, very hot wife was buck ass nekkid in their living room?

She's humming a little and rearranging the shelves (fuck, is she actually cleaning naked?) and she looks like one of those fruity paintings at the museum that she's always dragging him into. Her hair in ringlets and piled up on her head, the overhead lighting like a fucking spotlight on her tits (which are unreal, by the way; thanks, Puck Jr.) and legs and then...fuck, he needs a minute.

His eyes are bugging out and if it takes him a few seconds to figure out that, yeah, his five buddies also have their eyes bugging out, 's'not his fault.

Shit, is Woody actually sporting a...?

He knew there was a reason he hated that guy.

That's when it all goes to shit.

"COVER YOUR FUCKING EYES, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

She screams and jumps in surprise (does she even know what that does?), "Noah!" When she sees her audience, she screams again and scrambles to find something to cover herself with. She ends up holding his Nana's needlepoint pillows over her lady bits. "What the hell?"

"Yeah, now isn't the time, babe. I'm trying to make sure these douchebags erase the last five minutes from their brains or else, Imma cut their fucking dicks off." He doesn't give a fuck if he's being rude but this is his woman, okay? _His_.

She storms off all sideways-like with throw pillows instead of fig leaves and really, he would laugh because shit is hilarious. Too bad he's too busy putting the fear of the Puckerone into some people. "Hey, hey, _hey_! Eyes back here! And put your hands where I can see 'em!"

When she comes out again, now attired in a maternity dress, the living room is empty except for Puck. He's slumped in front of the flatscreen and the combination of the vein still throbbing at his temple and his pout is a little disconcerting for her.

She goes on the offensive. "What were you thinking of bringing your friends here like that? They must think I'm a terrible hostess!"

He explodes. "That's what you're worried about? Shit, Rach...they've seen _your lady business!_"

"If you had given me a warning that you bringing guests home..."

"How the fuck was I supposed to know you were nuding it up in here!"

"I take offense at your tone," she huffs, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, well, I take offense at the nakedness."

"Don't point your finger at me, Noah Puckerman!" She starts sniffling. "You're the reason I'm an 8 month pregnant whale! If my stupid clothes didn't make me so damned uncomfortable all the time, I wouldn't have taken them off in the first place!"

He sighs. Rachel's tears (hormone-induced or not) have always been his Kryptonite and he can feel himself melting already. "I know, baby. It's just I hate that the dudes from work have seen your bits. That shit just ain't kosher," he says softly. "Hey, come on, knock it off with the crying already."

She just bawls harder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be naked."

He wants to laugh but figures the timing sucks. He kisses her instead. "Shhh, it's okay." He spends the rest of the night _not_ watching the game. Instead, it's _The Music Man_ and tofutti ice cream to calm her down. The things he does for this woman...

Later, when they're in bed and a little calmer, she turns to him. "Noah, next time, call first before bringing strange men home?"

"Next time," he says, taking her in his arms. "Save the nudity until I get home, okay, babe?"


End file.
